


you'll be the ham, i'll be the cheese

by Jigen



Category: WordGirl
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jigen/pseuds/Jigen
Summary: Butch, the school's star football player, aka "The Butcher", has a problem. He's failing chemistry again, and his teacher has him seek out Steven Boxleitner, aka "Two-Brains," to tutor him. However, Butch isn't exactly inclined to be seen with a nerd like Boxleitner, lest it affect his social status. Is there anything they can do to prevent Butch from failing chemistry without having the entire school belittle him? What's the deal with Two-Brains' science project? Are things going to get romantic? (They are.) Tune in to find out![High School AU one-shot.]





	

Just another lovely day in one of Fair City’s many public schools—lovely, at least, for some.

“WHAM! UP WE GO!” With a sharp laugh, Whammer lifted his latest victim into the air and gave him a fierce wedgie. 

“HOW’S THAT FOR A WHAMMIN’ WEDGIE?” he bellowed, turning to show off his trophy to the rest of the football team. With a loud bang, the poor student was hurdled into a nearby open locker. Still laughing, the Whammer ran over and slammed the door closed. Hoots and hollers echoed through the hallway as the boys clapped and cheered. 

“ANYONE ELSE WANNA WHAM UP THE WHAMMER?” The cheering died down quickly as The Whammer studied the team. He suddenly pointed out into the crowd. “OOH, HOW ABOUT...THE BUTCHER?” 

The team parted to reveal the named, who was busy stowing his books into his bag. After a moment, he looked up, startled. 

“What? Me?” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “C’mon, guys, it’s almost time for class, can’t we just--” 

“WHAMMER CHALLENGES YOU TO STUFF TWO NERDS INTO A LOCKER!” 

“Butcher, Butcher, Butcher,” the crowd chanted, their feet stomping in unison. Butch let out a sigh as he put his other strap over his shoulder and began to plod over to another student at the end of the hallway. Skinny, nervous-looking, geeky purple bow-tie—a prime nerd ripe for the picking. His books kept falling to the ground, and he kept shoving them back into his locker with little success. Apparently, he hadn’t heard the memo to run as soon as the football team had stepped foot into the hallway. 

A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as he trudged closer and closer. The chanting grew louder and more insistent. The nerd glanced up at the imposing athlete and let out a terrified squeak, curling up against the lockers, his books tumbling down onto the ground again. Butch hesitated— 

_BRIIIIING!_

“Oh, uh, that’s the bell!” Butch exclaimed as a wave of relief washed over him. “Can’t be late for, uh, chemistry! All the way on the opposite side of the school. Don’t want more detentions. See you guys at practice!” 

With that, he took off, trying to avoid eye contact with any of his peers. Students started to swarm up and down the hallway, making their way to their next class. After turning the corner, Butch let out a sigh before continuing to walk, occasionally glancing behind him to make sure no one was following him. 

To be on the football team, one had to be one of the most athletic students in the school. Shoving people into places where they didn’t belong was practically a requirement for securing a spot for the season; after all, how was one supposed to prove they were the best? But usually, their targets hadn’t done anything to personally offend them, and that’s where Butch drew the line. Previously, Butch had dodged any pressure by bench-pressing the coach or by lifting a truck and pushing it up a small hill, but the team was starting to get suspicious about his lack of action against the local nerds. 

When he stepped into the class, Butch was presented with an overturned paper on his desk. He glanced around and realized other desks had similar papers, except theirs were turned upright with various grades written at the top—95, 93, 89. His heart sank as he plopped into his chair and rubbed his face. It was too early in the morning to deal with this. 

“Butch?” 

He looked up to see the disappointed face of his teacher. “Yeah, Mr. Baumgartner?” 

“Do you mind talking to me after class?” he asked. “I just thought—” 

“Yeah, I get it, thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” Butch grumbled, slumping over his desk. He hadn’t even turned over his test yet. Mr. Baumgartner walked to the front of the classroom and began to talk about energy levels, writing examples on the chalkboard. Cautiously, Butch peaked under the corner of his paper and saw the outline of a 54. Or a 45, he couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered, anyways. With a small groan, he leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes. The letters _s_ and _p_ and _d_ swam in his head until they ceased to mean anything of importance. 

The sound of the bell signaled the end of the period, snapping Butch out of his stupor. He stumbled out of his chair and approached his teacher, test in hand. 

Mr. Baumgartner let out a deep sigh before clasping his hands together and resting his arms on his desk. “Butch, we both know that you're failing chemistry. Given that you've already failed it once, I don't want to have you repeat it _again_ senior year. No football scholarship will save you from repeatedly poor grades.” 

“I know, I know!” Butch exclaimed, balling his hands into fists and inadvertently crushing his test. “I-I just don't know what to do, okay? I don't understand this stuff, and it just doesn't stick when I study or stuff.” 

“Butch,” Mr. Baumgartner continued, his voice softer, “It's the first quarter, and I want to help you improve from last year. I think you should seek out a tutor.” 

“What, you mean like, hire someone else to teach me and waste my money?” 

“No, no, you can ask a student who’s taken the class to tutor you.” Mr. Baumgartner smiled at him. “I personally know that Tw—I mean, Steven Boxleitner excelled at chemistry. Do you know him? He's in your grade.” 

“Uh, never heard of him.” 

“Well, he should be in the biology lab during homeroom. Talk to him about tutoring, and mention that I sent you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping you out.” 

Seeking out someone else for help? Not Butch’s style. But spending another year in this class would be the death of him. “Alright, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll talk to him later.” With that, he turned and walked out of the classroom, tossing his crumpled test in the recycling bin. 

\---

Humming quietly to himself, Steven unclasped the cover of the plastic carrier on the lab desk. He reached in and took out an albino mouse, petting it gently with his index finger. 

“Still playing with that rodent, Two-Brains?” 

Steven turned to grin at Robert Tubing, who was just rolling into the classroom. A few more students trickled in, talking quietly. The biology homeroom was special; only stellar students of science were chosen to spend their precious fifteen minutes in the classroom every day. Although there was only so much they could do in such a short period of time, it was nice to be with people who actually showed enthusiasm for each other’s interests. 

It was because of this homeroom that Steven had become fast friends with Robert Tubing and James Doohickey (whose last name, Steven had concluded, was probably fake). And although they were more interested in engineering than natural sciences like Steven, they enjoyed talking to each other and often collaborated on projects together. 

“Of course I am! Who could resist such an adorable little mouse like Squeaky?” Steven exclaimed, bringing the mouse closer to his face. The mouse squeaked loudly and promptly bit his nose. Steven let out a yelp of pain and while Robert snickered. 

“Serves you right for sticking your nose right in its poor face,” Robert said. “Is James absent today? I haven't seen him around.” 

After prying Squeaky away from his nose and rubbing the spot where he had been bitten, Steven nodded. “Yeah, his parents are taking him to visit Harvard today.” 

“Damn it, and we were supposed to work on the solar wheelchair today,” Robert sighed, moving closer to Steven. “By the way, how's _your_ science project going? The fair is in a few months and I've barely heard anything about your work.” 

Steven froze, clutching Squeaky tightly in his hands. “Oh, r-right. My science project. It's been going really well, I’ve been collecting a lot of important data on…stuff,” he said hastily, grinning. 

Robert stared at him silently, a single eyebrow arched. Steven’s grin wavered a bit as Squeaky tried to squirm free from his grasp. 

“I...uh, want it to be a surprise for the fair,” he continued, avoiding eye contact with Robert. “Hey, uh, did you know I almost got beat up by the Butc-” 

He was cut off by the classroom door swinging open to reveal the hulking silhouette of another student. Steven stopped dead, seized with fear. What was the Butcher doing here, of all places? Had he come looking for him after Steven had escaped his wrath this morning? Steven began to inch away from the door, towards the window. 

“Where’s Boxberger?” the Butcher asked Robert, who was sitting closest to the door. 

Robert gave him a blank look. “Boxberger?” he echoed. 

“Don’t play dumb with me! I was told Steve Boxsomething would be in this homeroom!” said the Butcher, stepping into the classroom. Trembling, Steven started scooting faster against the wall. 

“Steven Boxleitner, you mean?” asked Robert. “That’s Two-Brains. No one really calls him Steven.” 

An expression of recognition appeared on the Butcher’s face upon hearing the nickname. His eyes locked on Steven, who was quietly sliding open the window, and he marched towards him. “Hey, you!” 

As the Butcher's imposing figure loomed above him, Steven let out an unintelligible noise of fear. The janitors would be scraping his innards off of the linoleum tiles if he didn't get out of this. His mind barely registered that he was still holding something. Frantic, he hurled it at the Butcher. 

The Butcher let out a scream while Squeaky clung onto his face for dear life. The mouse took the opportunity to chomp on his new victim's nose. The Butcher stumbled backwards and nearly toppled over a desk. Steven flung open the window and dove out of the room, landing on the grass with a soft _thud_ and cowering under the windowsill as to not be seen. 

There was loud shuffling and banging, a few swears, and then silence. 

“Did he seriously jump out the window?” 

A pause. 

“Um, it appears so. Good thing we're on the first floor.” He heard Robert laugh nervously before falling silent for a few minutes. Steven lay on the grass, wheezing and trying to catch his breath. 

He would have probably felt really cool about what he had just done if he wasn’t absolutely petrified with fear. 

“Well, er, it doesn’t seem that he’s coming back,” spoke Robert. “Why don’t you just put that mouse in that container over there—yes, the one on the desk….” 

Steven started to crawl along the wall, heading in the general direction of the auditorium. Blood was dripping down the bridge of his nose, presumably from the mouse bite earlier. He would take care of that later, when he went to get his books from his locker. For now, he was going to head to his next class. Better to get there early that than to run into the Butcher in the hallways again. 

\---

No matter which way Butch turned, Two-Brains seemed to constantly elude him. Any time he so much as glimpsed him at the end of a hallway, he would disappear by the time he walked over. 

It was frustrating that Two-Brains merely continued to run instead of facing him. Sure, he was probably terrified out of his mind that a football player who had earlier approached him under the impression he was about to be destroyed was now chasing him. But if he just stopped and let Butch talk, he wouldn’t need to keep running away. 

By the time the last bell had rung, he still hadn’t tracked down Two-Brains. His pride bruised, Butch stormed into the school library to return some books he had borrowed the previous week. As he stood on line, his eyes wandered the room and he spotted Two-Brains. His back was turned to him, and he was perusing a stack of books, occasionally lifting one to examine the title before either putting it back down or slipping it out of the stack. In one hand, he clutched a plastic terrarium with a white mouse, which Butch realized to be the one that had been thrown at him earlier. 

Butch left the line and briskly walked towards the boy, books tucked under his arm. He cleared his throat, and Two-Brains practically leapt a foot into the air, causing several books to tumble the ground. He spun around, and Butch noticed that his nose was now adorned with a Band-Aid with a cartoon dog printed on it. 

“You-You—” Two-Brains sputtered, his voice shrill as he started backing away, tripping over his own feet. 

“Hey, wait!” Butch said, raising his hands as if to calm him down. “I just wanna talk, okay? I’m not going to fight you or anything.” 

After hesitating for a moment, Two-Brains let out a sigh, clutching his books tightly against his chest. “Fine. But only because we’re currently in a public space. I didn’t expect a jock like you to even think to go into the library.” 

Butch blinked. “Um, first, that’s a little rude; I’m actually here to return some books. Second, we’re in school. We literally have been in a public place all d—” 

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” 

“Right, yeah.” Butch paused, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing, lowering his voice. “Um, actually, Mr. Baumgartner sent me to talk to you, because, uh…I need…help.” 

There was a long silence. Two-Brains stared at Butch, a confused expression on his face. “Help with what, exactly?” he inquired. 

“Help with…” Butch took a deep breath. “Help with my chemistry. I failed it last year and I’m failing again and, y’know, I really don’t wanna take it a third time and Baumgartner told me you were really good, so….” 

His voice trailed off before he coughed and muttered, “You probably just think I’m a dumb jock. Sorry about this morning, I’ll go.” 

“W-wait, hold up,” sputtered Two-Brains. “You just want me to help you with your chemistry? That’s it?” 

“Uh, yeah—” 

"You weren't going to beat me up?” 

“N-no?” 

Two-Brains sighed deeply. He started to chuckle in a nervous fashion. “And here I was, thinking you were ready to tear my limbs off!” he laughed, running a hand through his untidy hair. He seemed to have become an entirely different person, his stammering practically nonexistent and his expression less tense. “You should’ve mentioned Baumgartner earlier. When do you have lunch every day?” 

Butch’s brow furrowed. At least Two-Brains wasn’t running away, now. “Sixth period?” 

“Great, I have lunch then, too. How about we meet up in the library tomorrow during sixth period?” 

“Hey, wait, I gotta have lunch with the team,” Butch objected. “If I suddenly don’t show up one day, they’re going to wonder where I am, and then if they find out I’m takin’ tips from a nerd like you, I’m finished! Can’t we keep it on the down-low, or something?” 

“Who’re you calling a nerd?” Two-Brains scoffed. 

“Says the guy who’s called Two-Brains.” 

“Ugh, fair point. I get it, peer pressure is one of the darker forces in this school.” Two-Brains scratched his chin, thinking. 

“Why don’t we just meet up after my football practice?” suggested Butch. “My team doesn’t find out anything, and I still get tutoring.” 

“Works well for me, as long as it’s after musical rehearsal.” 

Butch stared at Two-Brains. “I didn’t know you were a theatre kid,” he said. 

“Well, it’s one of my main extracurricular activities. Anyways, we’ll meet tomorrow evening?” 

“Sounds good, I guess,” said Butch, shrugging. “Not that I have any other option.” 

Steven rummaged through his bag for a piece of paper and pen, scribbling something down on it. “Here’s my address. Make sure to bring your homework and textbook, okay?” 

Butch took the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. The two of them stood there, not daring to make eye contact with each other. 

“Sorry about throwing Squeaky at your face,” mumbled Two-Brains. “I kind of panicked.” 

“He bit me on the nose.” 

“Uh, yeah, he did that to me, too.” 

Two-Brains rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking at the ground. 

“I like your Band-Aid," said Butch. 

“Oh! Er, thanks? It’s Scooby Doo. I, uh, carry them with me in case I get a cut.” 

More silence. 

“So…see you tomorrow I guess?” 

“Yeah, sure. Bye.” 

As Butch turned to leave, Two-Brains suddenly grabbed his arm. Surprised, Butch looked back at him. 

“I can’t believe this, but I don’t actually know your name,” Two-Brains said. "I mean, like, I know you’re called ‘the Butcher’ by everyone, but I doubt my parents would appreciate it if I told them that I’m tutoring a guy called ‘the Butcher’.” 

“It’s Butch,” he said, tugging his arm away from Two-Brains. “Butch Hoffmann.” 

“Oh, so _that’s_ why they call you the Bu—” 

Butch sped out of the library, not looking back at Two-Brains. He’d return his books tomorrow; he was late for football practice. The realization of what he’d just done was finally weighing on his mind, and he took out the crumpled address out of his pocket and scrutinized it. 

Better this than another year of chemistry.

**Author's Note:**

> A BIG THANK you Essa (dmentio.tumblr.com) for helping me with the plot, talking to me about ham and cheese, and inspiring me in the first place! You're the best!!!!


End file.
